


Kinky, With a Bit of Discipline

by Snegurochka



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-04
Updated: 2009-07-04
Packaged: 2017-10-10 22:56:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/105327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snegurochka/pseuds/Snegurochka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Gleaming silver slithers out from the cold walls and snakes around Black's wrists, leaving him with only a few inches of chain to tug with. He makes good use of the slack, arching his back and straining, chest open and sinewy arms stretched taut. The scene shifts, the lens widens, and Severus Snape steps into frame. "Please, Black. You don't really mean to struggle so, do you?"</i></p><p>2,500 words. NC-17. Written for the 'dungeons' theme at daily_deviant. July 2009.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kinky, With a Bit of Discipline

Sirius Black, naked. No, not naked – shirtless, with trousers snug around his hips and black boots rough with use. Sliding down the wet, stone wall until he hits the floor, his eyes livid as his arms snap back against the stone. Twisting for a moment, hips lifting off the floor, legs kicking out.

"Please, Black. You don't really mean to struggle so, do you?"

Falling still at the low, almost bored voice. Glaring. Tugging on hands that won't come loose. Spitting the word, "_Bastard_."

His wrists framed by manacles, glistening grey with sweat and oil, snapped in place with –

No, not manacles. Too much like prison. He wouldn't go in for that.

Silken ropes, then, soft as butter over his rough skin, tied off elegantly so that the ends trail down to caress his –

No, not silk. Too much like something a lover would use, in between stolen kisses by candlelight. He wouldn't go in for that, either.

The scene pauses, both parties waiting. Black slides the tip of his tongue over his lower lip, dark grey eyes narrowed. He pushes his hips up just slightly, waiting. Warning against making him wait too long.

_Handcuffs_, then. Fuck, yes.

Kinky, with a bit of discipline.

Gleaming silver slithers out from the cold walls and snakes around his wrists, leaving him with only a few inches of chain to tug with. He makes good use of the slack, arching his back and straining, chest open and sinewy arms stretched taut. Black hair dusts a chest with more muscle than one might think. Any amount of wasting away he accomplished in Azkaban has been rectified. He is strong, if wiry. Proud. Stubborn. He won't take kindly to this treatment, oh no.

The scene shifts, the lens widens, and Severus Snape steps into frame.

He is fully robed and –

No, too much to take off.

His starched white shirt is open, then, framing his smooth chest. In his right hand he carries a whip. He stalks forward, slowly, unfastening his pressed black trousers as he goes. They flap open, the disarray of shirt and trousers incongruent with his usual measured appearance, but he doesn't seem to care.

"Better," he mutters, pausing in front of Black to admire his handiwork. He lifts the whip and drags the tip lightly over Black's chest and down his stomach, pausing for a fraction of a second before pulling it lower to caress Black's groin and slide between his parted legs.

"Fuck you, Snape. Let me out of here. I don't need to play your sick games. Give me my fucking wand."

This is what Black barks at Snape, or things to that effect, at least. Snape does not reply. Instead, he lets the limp whip drift over Black's groin again, this time murmuring hidden words as he does so. As the black tip passes over the placket, Black's trousers melt open, peeling back easily over his hips. With an angry gasp, he sucks in a breath and then snaps his head up to glare at Snape.

No pants, say. He is laid bare, hard and angry and already pushing up towards his stomach, his cock damp against his dark curls and the brittle buttons of his trousers. More expletives pour from his mouth, his eyes flashing.

Snape is expressionless, save the slow, dry parting of his lips as he watches, pulling in a bit more air through his mouth. He must be desperate to wet his lips, let his mouth water at the sight of Black chained and hardening before him, but he doesn't. He is much too controlled for that. He takes the final few paces towards Black and steps over him, fixing each booted foot on either side of Black's splayed legs, gazing down at him. His cock rises from his body, thick and angry, and hovers in front of Black's mouth.

Whipping his head to the side, Black seals his lips and grunts, pulling at the handcuffs again. "Fuck, no," he snaps.

Snape grasps a handful of Black's hair and turns his head to face forward again, Snape's other hand lightly grasping the base of his cock. "Oh, yes," he breathes, the whip forgotten on the floor now. "Hasn't anyone ever tried to shut you up like this before?"

Black opens his mouth again to fire off a retort, as Snape knew he would, and finds himself with a mouthful of cock instead. The protest transforms into a groan low in his throat as Snape pushes forward, one hand curled around Black's chin and the other leaning, fingers splayed, against the wall over Black's head.

Snape thrusts.

He does wet his lips at last now, leaning into the wall and watching carefully as he pushes his cock into Black's mouth, his eyes locked on the way Black's lips stretch around him, the way Black's nostrils flare as he struggles for breath, the way the hem of fabric chafes at Black's cheek as he swallows Snape's cock. He does not bite, though, nor even try. Interesting.

Black's hips begin to cant up, lifting in tiny rotations as if against his will, over and over again as Snape's cock pushes deeper down his throat. Black's cock is hard and wet now, his fingers trying to curl towards it even from the distance of the handcuffs. Will Snape let him touch it, or will he come all over Black's face instead, stalking off and leaving him unfulfilled? Will he –

The scene pauses again, awaiting direction.

Ah. Now, _there's_ an idea.

Black's lips are stained a rough red, swollen and wet when Snape pulls back. He turns his head to the side and tries to wipe his mouth on his shoulder but can't quite reach. Snape watches him for a moment before stepping back. Leaving his shirt fluttering open, he steps out of his trousers, murmuring words along the way to ease their slide over his boots and into a heap across the floor.

He begins a new spell to unlace his boots and –

No, wait.

The boots stay on.

He sinks to his knees. The stone floor must be deadly cold and rough as fuck, but Snape doesn't seem to care. His eyes have sharpened like pure ink, fixated on Black's mouth. They rise ever so slightly to meet Black's gaze as Snape settles in against the floor, straddling Black.

For once, the bickering stops and they are both silent, eyes locked.

Maybe it's Legilimency. Maybe they could know exactly what the other is thinking, wanting. Maybe they both want this, have done for fucking _years_ now. Maybe it's long past time.

Snape grabs Black's prick too roughly, tight fingers purpling the head and earning a hiss from Black. His face crumples when he turns it away again, hiding it against his shoulder. Snape murmurs a lubrication spell clearly, precisely, letting Black know exactly what he's doing and exactly why Black can't stop it.

No fingers, no tongue, no toys, no preparation. Only cool, slippery gel that slides down Black's prick and wets Snape's hand where he holds it. He shifts, nudging it into his cleft. He pauses a moment, considering, and then, with his free hand, he presses his palm into the side of Black's face, mashing it against the stone wall and closing spidery fingers over Black's eyes.

"Look at me," he spits even as he prevents obedience, his teeth bared and panting breaths rising from his chest. He sinks down on Black's cock, barely pausing to adjust as each thick inch invades him. "_Look_, you filthy cur."

Black arches his back and tries to resist doing so at the same time, the result being that his chest caves in a bit and he bites down hard enough on his lower lip to white out the edges of it. "Fuck," he barks, twisting under Snape's grip. Snape only grinds his hips down, his balls brushing the hair at Black's groin, before rising again and slamming down. His hand tenses where it covers Black's face, fingers stiff in withheld abandon.

Snape fucks himself slowly on Black's cock, rising and falling too cautiously at first, almost tenderly. Maybe he needs to better prepare himself for what's to come, make sure the lubrication is sufficient. A whisper of a gasp like, "_Ah_" leaves Snape's lips with each downward slide, his eyes closing and his mouth falling open. His pace increases gradually, matching the way his groans intensify and his chest heaves. His hand slides up Black's face, freeing him a fraction, and lodges in Black's thick hair.

They're both groaning now, Black's angry face unable to keep from curling with bliss around the edges despite his protests. No man is going to protest being bound and getting to fuck like this, Christ, and Black is no exception. The protests die in his throat, replaced by dark, masculine gasps coloured with shortened breath and the exertion of lifting his hips off the ground without the aid of his hands. His stomach muscles clench, tightening the dusting of dark hair and pushing his cock further up into Snape's body with the effort.

Snape's fingers slide through Black's hair in a mysteriously courteous, if not loving, gesture even as his knees scrape raw on the floor and he slams himself down more and more viciously onto Black's prick. His fingers coming to rest around the back of Black's neck, Snape does something unthinkable now: he leans forward and claims Black's mouth. Both hands fly to Black's face and frame it, holding him in place as Snape plunders his mouth. They bite and tear at each other like animals, barely stopping for breath but preferring to devour each other whole until they're both bruised and bloody and aching with spilled pleasure.

Right on cue, Black twists his mouth away from Snape's and tilts his head back, shouting out his release with a stream of expletives that echo around the damp, stone chamber. His body convulses, pauses, and then jerks still, collapsing back against the wall as his face crumples in relief.

Snape's eyes narrow in challenge. He ceases lifting himself up and down, opting instead to make slower, gyrating circles with his hips. One hand falls to stroke his own angry prick while the other slides around to Black's throat. Inching in, he stops just shy of a choking hold, spreading his fingers wide and letting his palm rest over Black's collarbone with light but threatening pressure.

"You gonna kill me now?" mutters Black, but there is less menace than before. He watches Snape carefully, his lips parted and his chest still heaving, while Snape strokes himself off.

Snape does not reply, only quickening his pace and locking his gaze on Black once more. He arches back when he comes, directing his semen to splash up onto Black's chest and Snape's hand where it's lodged near Black's throat.

"Fuck," breathes Black, closing his eyes. "You filthy fucking pervert."

His hair falling into his eyes, Snape milks the last drops from his prick. Dragging his hand up from Black's throat, he smears come over Black's lips, holding him in place when he tries to flinch. "Never as filthy as you, Black," says Snape, his voice slicing across the edge of a whisper, and then Black's tongue is darting out to taste Snape's come on his mouth, flicking at it and arching towards Snape's mouth for another kiss, and then Snape is leaning in, leaning in, a sly smile playing about his lips, leaning closer, his spent cock falling over Black's stomach, and the two of them, the pair of them like this, it's too much to even think about, and he's leaning in further, and it's too intense, too flammable, too dangerous to even contemplate, but Christ, it's hot, it's so hot, the very thought of them, and –

***

"Come on. We don't need to be here for this. Buy you a beer at Rosmerta's."

The quiet but firm voice in his ear sent Charlie spinning out of his fantasy, landing back in reality with a thunk. He whirled his head to the side. "What?"

Bill nodded towards the kitchen. "Leave them be. Remus'll take care of it."

The argument filled Charlie's ears once more.

"He's _my_ godson, you fucking Death Eater scum, and I will _not_ let him anywhere near you. I don't care what Dumbledore says!"

"Then perhaps your hearing has gone, Black, along with your morals, your dignity, and a great deal of your self-respect. Albus has issued explicit instructions that I am to teach the boy Occlumency. I do not believe he ever asked your opinion on the matter."

"I don't give a shit whose opinion he asked."

"As always, your way with words is astonishing."

"I fucking know you, Snape. You'll have Harry bound and gagged in that dungeon, taking out every bit of revenge you've ever wanted against James – and me, for that matter."

"Oh, you flatter yourself, as usual. Do you really think I've spent the past fifteen years just waiting for revenge on you and Potter? Please. I am a busy man, as you might have heard."

"Yeah, sucking Death Eater cock – that's all _I've_ heard."

"Get out of my fucking sight, Black."

"Yeah? Gladly. You get out of my fucking house, Snape."

"If I never had to step foot in this stinking hellhole again, believe me, it would be–"

Bill sighed beside Charlie again. "This is ridiculous." He nudged Charlie with his elbow, pulling him away from the door. "They're grown men, aren't they? Sound like you and Percy used to, when you were, what – _twelve_? Christ."

With a last wistful glance towards the kitchen, Charlie followed Bill out of the house behind the rest of the Order. "Well," he said at last, rubbing at his chin, "maybe if we all leave them alone for a few hours, they'll work it out for themselves."

Bill glanced over at him as they headed down the street. "Work _what_ out for thems–" He trailed off, stopping abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk. He was silent for a moment, staring at Charlie, and then his lip curled up in a sly grin. "Why, Charlie Weasley, you dirty little cockslut."

"Oh, fuck off." He punched Bill on the shoulder and kept walking.

Bill laughed as he ran to catch Charlie up, and Charlie couldn't help but grin.

"Well, maybe."

"That's why you had that dazed look on your face!"

Charlie felt his cheeks colour. "Don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Well, _now_ I have." Bill shook his head, clapping Charlie on the back. "Come on. You look like you could really use that beer. And maybe a cold shower."

Taking one last look over his shoulder at the spot on the street that Number twelve should occupy, Charlie held out the fleeting hope that his fantasy might be in progress at that very moment.

 

-fin-


End file.
